


peu à peu

by zombiesolace



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Post-Canon, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12978375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiesolace/pseuds/zombiesolace
Summary: He has no role among the Foxes. Dan rules, Neil learns. Kevin is no prince; there is no king here. Andrew runs his lot and he’s crowned Neil second. Kevin flinches. Not second: most trusted. Andrew is no longer Kevin’s safety net and Riko is dead.(or: Kevin's healingprogress.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the few block lines of dialogue in italics are quotes from Nora's extra content, some of this is canon compliant with the extra content and some of it is Very Much Not bc fuck that, let me kno if there's anything that needs tagging and/or you see any grammar mistakes

It goes like this:

They lose.

They’re a third of the way into the season, playing against a team that has never made it past the semifinals and they lose.

The Bakersfield Roadrunners are the only Class I team to play without a goalkeeper. Their strikers are sub-par glory hounds and the dealer lacks a specialty. Despite the three solid backliners on guard at any time the Roadrunner’s goal is wide open.

The Palmetto State Foxes are the current Class I champions. Underdogs of the Exy world: fashioned by a cast of rejects and criminals and they, to no one's surprise, _lose_.

“Your performance was abysmal,” Kevin shouts into the locker room. His helmet mutters back dispassionately from where he throws it down.

“You play like shit and have no concept of cohesion. Are you being deliberately incompetent?” he snarls at them.

The Monsters ignore him. The majority rolling their eyes and heading for the showers. The Upperclassman stay, Allison quickest to answer. “Of fucking course, Kevin, we enjoy your little tantrums immensely.” She turns her faux smile on the first years hovering uncertainly around the room, “And you expected better of him. I want that money tonight.”

The knowledge that they placed a bet on his response burns all the more knowing they were so comfortable losing. “You’re complacent!” he snarls. “May I remind you that our reputation is not a slate wiped clean by last year’s win.”

“You may, Day,” Dan says, her eyes narrowed on him. Her admonishing mockery is so familiar—from one captain to another—that Kevin’s hand begins shaking. Dan doesn’t linger. Her dismissal is quick and brutal and directed at the rest of the team. “That was a hard game and we played to our strengths. It was inevitable that we lost, we’re still figuring out how to play with all our new additions. Our point gap is shrinking with every game and you’re giving every team hell while we do. Let’s get ourselves cleaned up.”

Kevin doesn’t wait around. He pushes through the rookies, their bodies limp with exhaustion and self-condemnation. The shower door slams heavily under his trembling hands. It bothers Kevin that he falls into the same category as the new recruits. The original Foxes have worked the hard yards. They’ve stomached each loss this year with grace. Kevin should be right there with them. They’re a team, they fall together.

And yet after each game this year, Kevin has found himself falling apart alone. Biting shame and swallowing frustration as he tears into each overanalyzed mistake.

He has the shower blasting before his clothes are fully off. His panic attacks are easier to conceal under the scalding spray. The palms of his hands press heavily over his eyes. A momentary relief before the aching call to attention from his left hand unsteadies him.

The season is going to shit and they’re going to fail. Their win last year was a fluke. A gift given to them by virtue of the Trojans. A simple byproduct of the hardiness of Foxes and the instability of Riko’s collapsing domain.

It is with an overwhelming sense of dread that Kevin thinks of his death. With each day the reality of Riko’s loss feels more sure. His revered grave sinking deeper and deeper beneath the sodden earth. Slowly the pit becoming an evermore permanent resting place for his lifeless body.

_You will practice until you’re good enough._

Kevin wishes Riko’s ghost had followed. He wishes Riko were still alive. He wishes he were alone, he wishes he weren’t.

He’s not sure how long he stays under the water but his hands are still shaking when Andrew smacks his open palm on the shower door. They keep shaking while he dresses. He knows they’ll keep shaking well into the night.

* * *

 

The Foxes begin peeling off as soon as they exit the bus; their feet barely back on home ground before they scatter across PSU.

Aaron speedwalks ahead of them. By the time they make it to their floor, Aaron is on his way out again. He wears a sleep shirt and loose shorts. Nicky ruffles his hair on the way past and Aaron shoves him off without missing a step. Nicky smiles all the way to their dorm.

Kevin wants the dorm room to be quiet but he does not want it empty. Nicky grants his wish for six minutes. He has Erik on the phone and is breathlessly chatting away. The German is a balm on Kevin's nerves—it's not a language he understands and therefore not one that will be turned on him in demand.

Kevin sits at his desk and lets the noise wash over him. He’s seven articles deep into their National failure when Nicky vanishes into the hallway, the door closing silently behind him. In the quiet, Kevin realises at some point Andrew and Neil finished getting ready for bed and shut themselves away in their room.

The busy dorm is full to bursting. The amount of rooms outnumbered by its occupants. Said occupants irritable and overflowing. Every space is shared and the longer they live together the sloppier they get. But despite the clothes strewn around the living room and the spots of disruption, activities started and abandoned, the room is empty. Kevin is alone.

He empties his sports bag onto the living room floor and rips his headphones free. The tangled cords catch on his water bottle. Kevin wrenches them free and the water bottle goes flying.

His hand shakes as he plugs them into his laptop. He tries not to think. The Beats settle over his ears and the soft foam muffling is a relief. He feels less exposed as the opening notes play.

 

> **PSU Foxes foul up win despite aiming for an open goal**

Kevin hovers the cursor over the next story. He knows it will say the same as all the rest. He knows the story will open with how they lost the game. How they won last year’s championship will follow. How the new lineup is a self sabotaging play may follow. Or maybe how a band of losers are sure to be one hit wonders. He knows what the story will say.

He knows that his commentary is far more nuanced by virtue of being a Fox. Kevin takes the out and opens the folder he has on the Roadrunners. He gives himself the 26 minutes of Mozart’s Concerto No. 23 to figure out a new strategy.

21 minutes in Kevin gets caught on why only two out of the three backliners consistently use heavy rackets. He has a fist full of hair and the urge to read the public's opinion. There is a wealth of information before him and hundreds of thousands of eyes watching. Each scrutinising: countless witnesses infallible by sheer number alone where Kevin’s eyes are lacking.

He should have noticed this before the game. He should have noticed  _during_ the game.

He calls Wymack.

Kevin begins speaking before the line picks up. His phone smacks against the headphone ear and knocks them askew. Kevin jerks them from his head and snaps, “Ruvolo switches between lightweight and heavyweight rackets during play. Why? Backliners use heavies to put more weight behind-”

“I know the science behind Exy rackets,” Dan says mildly.

Her voice pulls him up short. The surprise holts his spiraling train of thought.

“Why do you have—” Kevin chokes. The name Wymack clings to his tongue. Coach sits temptingly at the back of his palette. My Dad, his mind whispers, the words clear and intrusive.

“I’m at his place,” Dan says. She sounds annoyed but she has done so for months.

“Why do you have his phone?” Kevin says, demands of her.

“He’s out.”

A non-answer. It's so much like talking to Neil that Kevin treats her the same.

“Irrelevant. I want to speak with him,” he says.

Dan snorts. “He’s not here,” she says very slowly.

Kevin shoves his desk chair aside. It clatters against the floor, the wheels spinning. Something clenches inside of him, he hadn't meant to move so violently. He paces, racing off his frustration.

“How exactly am I supposed to get in contact with him?” he barks.

“Have a little patience,” Dan says, “Or can your nervous breakdown not wait?”

He hates her. He hates knowing as cruel as that line is, how blasé it's meant to sound, that it's also a test. It is Danielle Wilds, Captain of the Palmetto Foxes, feeling his tantrum out. He is a part of her team after all.

“What,” he snaps, and stops. He deliberates. Her cold tone bothers him. It is too familiar. He eases out a breath and softens his.

“Why would Ruvolo keep switching rackets?” he says.

Andrew pokes his head out of the bedroom. He stares blankly at Kevin, his hair mussed. Kevin stares back. He does not need him.

Dan answers as Andrew retreats. He leaves the door partiality ajar. Kevin feels something in his chest loosen.

“It's a risky move considering their playing style,” she begins.

“If you do not know,” Kevin says hotly, “do not speak.”

Kevin can hear the way Dan draws in a steady breath through gritted teeth. He has seen her do it enough times that he can picture her scowl.

“It's a risky move considering their playing style,” she says again, her words pitched exactly as they were before.

Kevin sucks in a shocked breath,“If you do not know—”

“Shut it,” she growls. “Ruvolo plays various strengths depending on which racket is being used. At the same time, while switching in game, who knows which is going to be the right racket to use in the heat of the moment. Mark that down as one risk. How many risks are you willing to take in a game?”

“Every calculated risk,” Kevin says in annoyance.

“Precisely,” Dan says shortly, “so to have Ruvolo switch between rackets is calculated. It is an advantage.”

“To play with a heavyweight racket is not a disadvantage,” Kevin starts. “At this level backliners should not be using lightweight rackets.”

“It _is_ a disadvantage,” Dan says, “if you’re already taking a major risk.”

Kevin’s mind runs the playthrough. He recalls the pace with which every player he has had switch to a heavier racket. The weight and learning curve they had to adjust to. The time it had taken. Depending on the player and their tutelage the transition could take months. “Like playing without a goalkeeper.”

“I would say,” Dan continues, “that Ruvolo is in the process of switching to a heavyweight racket.”

“I should hope so,” Kevin rants, “if Bakersfield wants to make it to the finals while carrying an open target on their backs they need to utilise every strength they have.”

“Then I would imagine that Ruvolo’s prowess with a heavyweight racket is yet to be a reliable strength,” Dan says.

“They have multiple backliners with heavyweight rackets on their team. Why would they play Ruvolo?” Kevin says. “Risk or no—”

“Having an open goal is too reckless in itself,” Dan argues. “They can't afford to be reckless in any other area of playing style.”

“Then why is Ruvolo first string!” Kevin says. “The Roadrunner’s are—”

“Hey, Coach,” Dan says. Her voice is suddenly upbeat in a way Kevin is unsure he’s ever heard her direct his way. Maybe at the very beginning, but only if she were the one who introduced herself first. He can't recall. He pulls the phone sharply away from his ear. The call time reads 3:25. He hangs up.

His pacing comes to a slow finish; the nervous urge to move drained out of him. His muscles ache in the way they do after a grueling game. After every game. He never gives anything less than his best. Not now. Kevin drops down into the closest beanbag. He misses mostly. His ass is on the edge, his arms and chest sprawled over the inflated bulge of packing beans. His mind is beginning to race again.

He scrolls through the contacts in his phone.

He won’t call any of them. He just wants to know they’re there. And maybe—

His emergency contacts glare out at him. They’re ordered alphabetically but that is not the order with which he’d call.

Andrew—

Neil—

— an open door away.

Abby—

— far more welcoming than Kevin has ever known.

He takes a breath.

Thea—

— his _girlfriend_.

Wymack—

—his fucking father.

He doesn’t call any of them.

And maybe—he wonders if they’d answer.

 

* * *

 

Riko was always right there.

On the bunk bed above him when the master first took him in. On the court waiting for Kevin to send him a pass. His grip leash-like around Kevin’s bicep as they spoke to the press.

They were never apart in The Nest. Not once for more than five minutes in all the years upon years they lived there.

They were a two piece set—move one an inch to the left and the other seamlessly falls into place.

Riko was always right there.

Kevin never had to call him.

 

* * *

 

The closest corner store is a grungy little place on PSU campus. The lone staff member stays locked in a metal cage with a likely empty cash register, shelves of damaged cigarettes, and a wide array of spirits. Kevin tries not to linger.

Despite having a cumulated rap sheet as long as a child’s Christmas list, Andrew’s lot are only here to buy ice cream. His protests went unheard. He doesn’t know why he bothers when he knows the vote for will be unanimous.

That's not true. He does know. He enjoys having the ability to express his opinion. It's a novelty he’s still getting used to.

Kevin hovers by _ESPN The Magazine_. He buys it occasionally when the Foxes hog the TV with their gaming tournaments that happen to coincide with upcoming exam periods. He can afford the subscription. He’d enjoy the routine of its arrival. Sometimes he reads through the stories on sports besides Exy and tries to see if he can convert plays over. It can be fun.

A cold bath of fear crashes upon him. Guilt chasing the impact down. The magazine mangles in his fist.

Kevin can’t see any of the Foxes. They disappeared into the store moments upon arrival and three out of the four are too short to be seen over the aisles.

He wants to spit his anger at Neil and see him burn back in fury. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to discuss game strategy. They could have done it in the dorm. They didn’t _need_ to come with. None of them need ice cream. They don’t have the time to enjoy themselves.

Kevin hears a whisper of footsteps behind him. Then a giddy voice saying softly, “That’s Kevin Day.”

In the convex mirror above him, Kevin can see two high school girls dallying further down the aisle.

He can tell from the subsequent conversation that they’re new fans. Or at least fans of the game alone because they don’t mention the tattoos or Riko or his hand.

Kevin unfolds the now creased _ESPN_ magazine and forces himself to read an article he was saving. It's a new take on an old discussion. His has his own opinions on it. They’d make good quotes for an interview. Its food for thought.

He jumps in surprise at the sudden clearing of someone’s throat. Kevin flinches into a stalled turn and finds the high school kids hovering—a third friend having appeared.

Kevin briefly and fiercely misses Andrew’s protection. He’s used to the limelight but it's ruined him once before.

He works on his media smile like it's stage makeup. Neil called the smile counterfeit a few weeks back. It rankles Kevin. The smile’s hard worn but Neil’s not wrong.

The fans are respectful and nervous enough to be succinct. They ask for a photo and an autograph.

Kevin’s performance is flawless. It exhausts him.

As the girls leave, the third friend hesitates. “Why are you a striker?” she asks shyly.

The question chills him to the bone. She goes on, “I mean how long have you been one? Why a striker? How old were you when you picked the position?”

Kevin mumbles out a number and it's not the right answer but he’s glad it's not the number two.

The fans wait. Their eyes still on him.

One of the girls reaches back and tugs at her friend's hand. “He’s the best striker in all of Exy history,” she says, her eyes and body turned toward her friend but the words are for him. She blooms under his gaze. He keeps his counterfeit smile as bright as a cut diamond. She’s meeting someone she idolises.

“It's true,” Neil says. He looks innocuous as he can; as innocuous as the apparition of a mobster's son can. The loose collared jumper and the pints of ice cream piled under his arm do nothing to soften his considering gaze and the scars curling beneath his eyes.

His appearance chases them away. All the while, Neil watches Kevin.

The praise is weighty and possibly well earned. On another day it would have Kevin preening. On another day it will. But today he is not feeling well. The season is going to shit and he’s not sure they’ll make the finals this year. He hasn't been putting enough effort into Exy.

Neil raises his eyebrows pointedly. “You wanted to talk strategy?”

Kevin throws the magazine down. It misses the rack.

He’s quiet on the way home.

 

* * *

 

Kevin has a half hour break between classes when Matt messages the group chat. He sends a dozen heart eye emojis and a link to the Trojan’s twitter account. Kevin is scrolling as soon as the video of Dermott and Alvarez reenacting some WWE fight ends.

There are countless photos of the team. Trojans smiling on the court, on campus, at the beach. He’s not interested. Not today. Kevin finds an action shot 20 minutes into scrolling. It's from their first game of the season. Kevin and Neil watched the game five times. At least one of those times was out of emotional investment in some certain players. In the photo Jeremy stands at the ready, his jaw set and brow furrowed. Jean stands three paces behind. He is almost smiling.

Both men stand comfortably in every photo they appear in. Kevin wants to call Jean and demand how it's possible. What is it that makes him relax? Isn't his mind constantly ticking over and calculating what is possible, what he is capable of? Aren’t the constant mathematics to figure out how much he can deal with that day a feat unto themselves? Don’t his bones ache in exhaustion?

Kevin forces his attention back to the photo. Jean’s wounds have healed. Small scars crisscross his cheeks. Kevin remembers how swollen his face had been when Renee broke him free. The way Jean’s skin had bruised purple and explosive—the tears in his skin ready to burst from the pressure.

California looks good on him. His skin has darkened drastically. Tan lines mark his biceps and thighs. There's colour in his cheeks that Kevin hasn't seen in years.

Kevin pauses on a photo of their weekly team breakfast. Jeremy and Jean sit side by side, their heads together. Jean is gesturing with his knife, Jeremy is gripping the back of Jean’s chair. Their postures are relaxed.

Kevin can't imagine being in the presence of both of them at once. He adores intensity in a person but one person's attention is enough.

He remembers Thea calling him out on his so called heart eyes. How she’d jabbed her elbow into his side and bared her incisors at him. He thinks about the bright light in her eyes as she teased him. How his eyes had turned to her whenever they were in the same space.

He thinks about the brusque way they went about their relationship in The Nest.

He thinks about how he let her go, how he had them practice head on.

Upon his integration into the team he’d faced off against her over and over again. He’d wanted to test his quick shots and deadly instincts against her infallible, unapologetic violence. He thinks about how he’d exhausted himself trying to improve, to fight.

“You have five seconds,” she’d said, nearing the end of practice, nearing the end of her patience. She was always daring him to get past her.

He thinks about the way they argued. Sniping critiques of each other that became increasingly childish until Riko had snapped and said, “Just fuck her and get it over with.”

And in the changing room later, how they’d lingered.

No, how everyone else had vanished.

But never Riko.

They’d scrubbed themselves down, the air tense.

She’d met his eyes head on and said, “Wipe that look off your face or do as you’re told.”

“What look?” he’d said with a wild fire in his blood.

She hadn’t appreciated his delaying tactic. She’d said flatly, “you tell me.”

A pause. His bold persona still developing with age.

“I want to kiss you,” he’d said in a rush, made a statement of his desire.

“You have five seconds,” she had said.

He thinks about how they’d fucked.

Just as Riko had told them to.

How scared he’d been. How unsure.

How angry.

How Riko had been in the room.

And yet, with Thea so close and eager, how thrilled he’d been.

 

* * *

 

They lose the next game and it goes just the same. They fight, they shout. He has a panic attack in the showers.

After the game Kevin goes to Abby’s.

“Come sit,” she says and pats the seat next to her. The floral couch sags drowsily as he does. The kettle is boiling in the kitchen and the TV has been on low since she let him inside.

Abby doesn’t say anything. He thinks she’s waiting for him to speak first. It's a novel idea; usually there is no wait.

Kevin scratches at the icing-like piping around the edges of the couch arms. The TV is playing a documentary Kevin has seen before. Abby was the one who showed it to him. He’d turned up late one night, early one morning, smashed and having lost Andrew somewhere along the way. Wymack had been too daunting a saviour. He couldn’t have risked spilling all. So he went to Abby. She’d deposited him on the couch and only sighed when he’d said he wouldn’t sleep. The documentary told of the ice age before humans were the top of the food chain. Kevin remembers when Abby had described the documentary as being set in the Pleistocene Epoch, the soft scornful twist of her mouth when she saw his surprise. She hadn’t been lax in her use of technical terms since. Kevin had had to research a couple to understand what she was talking about; they have vastly different areas of interest. She’d grinned triumphantly at him before she rewound the DVD back to the start.

“Got any booze,” he says. There's something about Abby’s unrelenting kindness that makes him want check that it's _him_ she sees.

“Hmm,” she goes, “Is that a joke?”

Kevin shrugs.

Abby pats his knee, smiling sweetly. “Don’t quit your day job.”

Kevin’s lips pulls back, revealing his teeth. Its with confusion he asks: “Is that a joke?”

The kettle clicks. Abby pats her knees once, twice, decisively as she stands. “That’ll be the coffee.”

He thinks she might allow Irish coffee.

Kevin switches the TV off and hurries into the kitchen. “Did you watch the game?”

“Mmhmm,” Abby hums, concentrating on getting the right quantities of milk in her drink.

Kevin feels jittery with pent up energy. She isn't looking at him. “What did you think?”

Abby puts the milk down and looks. Her gaze is measured. “You all played very well.”

Kevin throws his arm out. “We did _not_. That was not even close to a well played performance.”

Abby lifts a shoulder and collects the mugs of coffee. “Everyone played their best.”

Kevin scoffs but waits until Abby has put the drinks on the coffee table before throwing himself down. “Their best isn’t good enough. And that was nowhere near their best—they won’t work together!”

Abby passes him his mug. Its orange and covered in fox paws. He wants to shake it violently. “They do want to win though. And they want to play.”

“We don’t have time for them to grow up and come around,” Kevin hisses. The coffee slops over the edge in his trembling hands.

Abby smiles. “It might not feel that way, but you do.”

Kevin huffs. He could never shout at Abby but he wants to. “I don’t want platitudes, Abby. This is not a discussion. Talking won’t help. I want a team that will make it to the finals.”

Abby’s brow knits as she thinks. She tucks her feet up onto the couch and rests her coffee on her knees. “Well I can’t do that for you and you can’t have that right now either. I’ve had a long ass day and so have you. What shall we do instead?”

Kevin hangs his head. He is tired. The coffee feels as though it hits his system immediately. He still wishes it were alcohol. He rubs at his eyes and ignores the chaffing need to apologise. “Do you have an documentaries with people in them? History is about human affairs.”

Abby grins at him. “I deal with human affairs all day long. I watch documentaries to unwind.”

Kevin gives a put upon sigh. It's almost exaggerated for comedic effect. Almost.

Abby gives him a soft look. “I’m sure I can dig up something. It might not be your style but I’m still quite the history buff.”

The guilt he feels tastes as bitter as the coffee he swallowed. He’s not sure who he’s doing it for when he waves his hand in dismissal.

Abby waits a moment before turning the TV on and resuming the documentary. A saber tooth tiger abandons a decimated carcass, too big to make only one meal.

They talk intermittently throughout. Mostly, though, they watch.

It helps a little. Kevin’s shoulders gradually loosen and sink into the dumpy couch.

He might keep complaining for better documentaries until it's late enough for him to announce he’s going to crash here. He doesn’t want to go back to the dorms. He needs a break from the team. Abby will understand. She’ll let him stay.

Abby throws a blanket over him long before the first documentary ends.

She’s a temporary comfort.

He wishes he liked the sound of that more but he can’t believe in it.

 

* * *

 

Kevin remembers his mother.

He remembers them running together. He remembers them sprinting across countless fields. Lush green fields with flowers abound. Dusty, cracked ground that had long since seen any rain. Sweet smelling tarmac in sticky hot summers. He remembers their rackets locked in their fists and locked together in celebration after he’d scored.

He remembers her pulling him close and speaking softly. He remembers there was no time for fun but Exy was _exhilarating_ and there was always time for that. She’d pull up his socks and straightens his clothes with a businesslike fashion.

He’d sit in on meetings at showy metropolitan Universities and fly with her to conferences across the world.

Everyone wanted to hear Kayleigh Day speak.

And speak she did. Kevin remembers her muttering the shopping list under her breath at the supermarket. He remembers her reciting lectures she planned to give as she showered. He remembers her cooking: juggling a hefty rice bag in one hand and a recorder in the other as she made herself memos for her future plans. He remembers the pot boiling over in her distraction. How she’d snorted, a rough sound, and handed him the recipe.

“What’ve I got to do, K?” she’d said.

She’d listened quietly as he spoke.

She’d always listened when he spoke.

“I can see you’ve got something to say, my boy,” she’d said one day after an awful practice.

He’d been seven and distracted and he’d ended up with skinned knees and a strained shoulder when he hadn't been able to pull off a move he wanted. He’d tried _so hard_.

Kevin had shook his head, his fingers fiddling with his sweater and his eyes avoidant. “It's not important.”

Kayleigh had pulled him close. She brushed her hands over his knees, knocking free the dirt and spoil.

“What you have to say, Kevin,” Kayleigh had said, “it matters.” She’d smiled at him, a barely there quirk of her lips. “Don’t let anyone quiet you. You think long and hard about what you want to say, choose your words carefully, and then you speak them. Don't keep quiet.”

She’d squeezed his shoulders and rubbed up and down his arms. “And don't quiet yourself. You deserve better than that. Now speak up.”

 

* * *

 

Kevin throws himself into practice. He can't corral the Foxes into performing better but he can lead by example and shout himself raw.

No one listens. Dan and Neil do much the same, though with significantly less shouting. Matt and Renee back them up but no one's doing as they're told. They’re outnumbered by ineptitude and apathy.

Kevin shouts louder. He pushes harder. His checks noticeably increase in power. He thinks Thea would be proud.

She’d be the only one. Everyone else gets steadily more pissed at him. He is surrounded by hostiles and it's exhausting. Exy is the only thing that gets him through.

It gets worse when it becomes familiar. It is like his grief over Riko once more. He is alone in this battle. The Foxes don't understand. They don't care.

They didn’t know Riko well and what they know of him is awful.

A lot of what Kevin knows of him is awful too but they were a team. They worked together.

A rookie slams the ball wildly and his racket flies free. It projectiles right towards Nicky’s face. It misses, but only because Nicky has been running drills with Neil for over a year now and his footwork is faster.

“Wooo!” Nicky shouts, “Now that was a wake up call I didn't need.”

“It is actually,” the rookie snarls, “if you'd been running drills correctly you wouldn't have been standing there.”

He’s right. Nicky should have moved along to the next exercise by now.

Nicky flaps his hands lazily. “Kiddo, kiddo, it's no big. I forgive you.”

“ _God_ , fuck off,” the rookie shouts, “If the racket had hit you it would have been _your_ fault.”

Kevin feels his spine stiffen. He hears emphasis where there is none. Sees the cheery smile on Nicky’s face he knows is a shadow of the truth magnified large enough for him to hide behind.

Whose fault _was_ it? One of them is dead and the other is hurting. Why isn't it obvious?

Kevin stomps over. He drops his racket. The rookie startles at Kevin’s presence. Nicky doesn’t, he spirits across the floor to chatter with Aaron and Matt. He is used to being threatened.

“Is that how you see it?” Kevin asks.

The rookie glances around. There are a few people watching. Wymack, Renee, Dan; Andrew and Neil, but when aren’t they.

The steady gaze of his team settles Kevin. “You actions are the responsibility of others,” Kevin says and it is meant to be a clarifying question but sounds like a statement.

The rookie nods rapidly, then shakes his head. “Why is Hemmick first string? Just look at how he fucks around.”

“And how about how you fuck around?” Kevin asks.

The rookie scoffs, “I don’t.”

Before today, Kevin would have agreed.

“What if that racket had hit Nicky and done him some serious injury?” Kevin asks.

The rookie shrugs. “He would have dealt with it.”

Kevin takes a shallow breath. “And you?”

The rookie shrugs again. “Not my problem. It's not on me.”

Kevin’s not sure what happens next. It doesn't really matter. Its nothing worse than anything he’s said to the original Foxes. This would almost be routine except he flushes hot, his skin prickling. Then there are flashes of images and all of a sudden Matt and Neil are shoving him back. Dan stands between Kevin and the rookie. Kevin twitches at her interference. Another of the first years has an arm around the rookie. He’s gasping brokenly, tears running down his blank face. Dan squeezes his shoulder and sends him off to have his panic attack in peace.

Kevin watches him go. Everyone else watches him. No one cares, not really. They are the Foxes and this is how they practice.

Even still Dan turns on him.

“Kevin,” she says tightly, “that doesn’t _help us_. You want a cohesive team then we have to work with one another. Not be at each other's throats.”

“He’s not ready to play as a team yet,” Kevin says, “His attitude says it all.”

“Be that as it may,” Dan says, “you’re acting much the same.”

She walks such a fine line. Never once has her fury affected the way she treats him on the court. It baffles him how she can separate Exy from everything off the court.

“He cannot treat his teammates like that if he wishes to succeed,” Kevin says.

“You’re right,” Dan says, and for a moment Kevin feels lifted. “But neither can you treat teammates like that.”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “One talking to will not ruin his life.”

“One stray racket to the head would not have ruined Nicky’s life,” Dan says.

Kevin jerks in disagreement, hot anxiety spiking through him. “You can’t know that. You can't speak light of physical injury.”

“And yet you have no issue speaking light of mental injury,” Dan says. She leaves, her spine tight and to attention.

Part of Kevin wants to be derisive, but he’s not sure that that's all him. It's been mentored into him by Riko, the master, his mother. Mental injury can be worked through. The Foxes are prime examples that neurodivergence isn’t a handicap. But then that sentiment works for both arguments—the Foxes are _Foxes_ for a reason: they fit Wymack’s bill. Kevin doesn’t know who he agrees with anymore. Just get up, get over it works for a time but when it stops working there isn’t much left of a person.

Matt claps him on the shoulder as he follows Dan. Allison winks at him. Renee looks on solemnly. Aaron doesn’t thank him but he tilts his chin in acknowledgement. Nicky is beyond it already, squaring up for the next drill and back on task.

Neil and Andrew are watching him as they ready themselves.

They survived. Jean survived. Thea survived. Wymack survived. Kevin survived. They’re all still going on day to day. They fight to survive.

Riko didn’t, or he did but he fought for the wrong side—Evermore should never have been allowed to flourish. Or maybe it was a losing battle—a boy born into his family one son too late.

Every one of the Foxes got away from their nightmares and chains, whether by their choice or not.

Riko stayed. Maybe he didn’t know what he was fighting for.

Kevin goes back to practicing drills. He doesn't know what he’s fighting for.

 

* * *

 

Kevin jolts awake one night and he cannot find his feet to climb out of bed.

It's so hard standing alone.

He does not know what position he plays.

The master was a horror. Some days he does not know how he and Riko survived. The world seems to know. Easy, simple steps: one two, one two, over and over until they carved the numbers into their skin.

But what position does he play?

His role no longer makes sense. He is a two without a one. There is no three, there never was. Number four is fading, he feels it. See it every time he watches the Trojans.

He has no role among the Foxes. Dan rules, Neil learns. Kevin is no prince; there is no king here. Andrew runs his lot and he’s crowned Neil second. Kevin flinches. Not second: most trusted. Andrew is no longer Kevin’s safety net and Riko is dead.

There were rules to follow, etiquettes to live by.

_You lead, I’ll follow. You speak, I’ll answer. You smile, I’ll nod._

They ran circles around one another. They fed off each other's life force—the master taught them how to live. He taught Riko how to rule. One and two: they were chained together, they’d starve without the balance. They fed. Riko feasted, Kevin nibbled. Riko gorged, Kevin sampled.

They survived and they did it _together._ They did it despite the master.

 

* * *

 

They’re in the gym training and Kevin is pushing himself.

His hand is sore from night practise but he keeps pushing. He wants a drink but alcohol will only ruin his health. He can see his reflection in one of the gym mirrors and his eyes keep catching on the queen piece.

He tries not to think about Riko.

He fails.

He still hears Riko’s voice insistent in his ear like he never died. Or maybe like his vengeful spirit had found its target:  _I_ _f it is not perfect you will not eat, you will not sleep._

He goes for a drink after his set; just water. His limbs are shaking and his muscles trembling. He spills cold water down his front with his useless hands.

The water is a shock of impact against his overheated body and Kevin recalls Riko waterboarding Jean. He thinks about the ten times he watched Riko waterboard Jean.

The first time: how Jean was calm and young and old hat at torture. Kevin was nervous. He’d seen Riko researching the act and seen the glint in his eyes. The way he’d leant in in interest.

The day was routine, Riko was upset and Jean had mentally prepared himself.

Jean had been calm still when Riko carefully tucked the towel around his head. Kevin is glad he couldn’t see Jean’s face.

At least not the first time, when Jean hadn’t seen it coming.

The nine times after Kevin saw every micro-expression on his terrified face. They blur together in his memories until they all possess Jean’s face at once and Kevin can't bare to remember.

Kevin empties his water bottle. Into his mouth, down his front, onto the floor, it doesn't matter.

He fumbles the bottles with shaky fingers as he puts on the lid.

It slips and hits the ground. The heavy metal thudding dully and falling still.

Kevin recalls finding out Riko was dead.

How the high after their win seemed to halt suddenly. Euphoria and triumph were no longer emotions Kevin could feel.

No, he felt fear. Riko had broken his crown tumbling from his pedestal and Kevin had helped dethrone him.

Numbness had settled into his brittle bones. He recalled the surrounding events dispassionately. The way Neil had been smiling upon his return. How Kevin had figured out Neil had known long before him. How death had watched this second fiddle’s brother die at the true king’s hand.

How Wymack had taken him to the funeral.

How he’d gruffly ordered Kevin around, too numb to think for himself. How he’d almost felt something as Riko was lowered into the ground and Wymack had stepped in tighter so their shoulders pressed firmly.

How Andrew had been waiting at Fox Tower. How for a few days after Andrew’s protection had returned until Kevin threw himself into Exy.

How Neil threw himself into the gauntlet right alongside him with a slightly more inexperienced force but a hell of a starting speed.

Kevin recalls how, at the beginning, the Foxes were sympathetic.

He recalls thinking they cared.

Kevin crouches to pick up the water bottle.

The metal is ice cold in his grip.

White lines scour the back of his shaken hand, the scars stark and demanding.

He doesn’t recall Riko breaking his hand.

 

* * *

 

He remembers before,

and he remembers after, but he doesn’t remember the moment his life changed.

 

* * *

 

The master had told them what the ERC was saying. He’d wanted the truth.

He’d taken them to the court and set them head to head. They’d fought until their legs began to crumple beneath them. They’d fought until their gloves soaked through with sweat and their rackets slipped in their grip’s. They’d fought until they breathed shallow gasping breaths indistinguishable from a violent panic attack.

Kevin had pulled one disarming play more than Riko and scored.

The ball had smashed into the goal, shouting like a judge’s gavel. The yell echoed long and loud in their ears: Kevin was _better_ than Riko.

Kevin’s knees almost crumpled then, his racket almost slipped free, but a decision was being made and he couldn’t show weakness. He couldn’t risk knocking himself from this precipice.

He needed to hear it from the master.

Sometimes, late at night and drunk on vodka, Kevin thought that Riko had been last to know.

Kevin can’t imagine how confronting that must have been.

Riko had been first in every way.

Until the master had told him that, in this, he wasn't.

They’d been dismissed. The master turning away as soon as he’d seen their unrestrained performances.

Riko had made it to the locker room before he’d snapped. He’d wrenched his helmet off and swung it at Kevin’s face.

 

* * *

 

Kevin remembers being beaten down to his hands and knees. The quick slam of his kneecaps and the ache in his skull as he collapsed.

Riko had been silent and unresponsive.

Kevin remembers the murderous look in Riko’s eyes and the sheen of black plastic reflecting his terrified expression.

He knew then; of course Riko would turn on him.

Riko had worn a lie for over a decade and everyone believed in it. He’d had it tattooed on his skin. They believed in Riko.

Riko had believed the lie.

And now he knew: Kevin was first.

Riko couldn’t allow it—that one number was all he had.

Kevin’s mind goes dark after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whiiiich fandom needs more of Kevin Day????? this one does! whoooo wrote a whole fic out of spite???? i did! lol this fic was supposed to be 8k but then the /outline/ was 8k and i knew i was in over my head, i really hope you lot enjoy this and i have a handy dandy formula for how you can tell me:  
> waaaant to show this author appreciation???? copy and paste your favourite line/s into the comments and tell me how it made you FEEL! its that easy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it were, his broken hand is the reason he made it to the Foxes. It was the snapping of his metacarpal bones that had rebooted his perspective—he couldn't turn his cheek from this one. He recalls how he’d signed onto the Foxes and the fear that had enveloped him.
> 
> (or: it's courage that keeps him going.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the few block lines of dialogue in italics are quotes from Nora's extra content, some of this is canon compliant with the extra content and some of it is Very Much Not bc fuck that, let me kno if there's anything that needs tagging and/or you see any grammar mistakes

He almost doesn’t send the message.

He doesn’t know why he sends it in the first place.

It's a ridiculous question. An obvious ploy. He knows Jean knows Neil knows French. It's not fair but then nothing is and Kevin is lonely and drunk.

He thinks he misses Jean.

              (11:21pm) >>> How do you say provisional in French?

Eden’s Twilight is thumping a beat into his skull that sets his teeth on edge. He can see Neil and Andrew at their table talking quietly, he can see Nicky and Aaron showing off their most ridiculous dance moves in the corner for one another and he doesn’t feel welcome. He wishes he were back in The Nest and everything had an order to it once more. He downs another drink. He can't imagine embracing the chaos of the Foxes.

              (11:27pm) >>> I was talking with Neil and I needed the word.

He’s caught up in a crowd of noise and energy and he doesn’t know where it's taking him. He wonders if they’ll call him an ex-Fox when he graduates or if he’ll always be labeled an ex-Raven. The Nest had a quiet energy that Fox Tower doesn’t.

              (11:35pm) >>> I can’t ask him. He’s a dick.

It's the people as much as it is the environment. Eden’s Twilight could have this music blasting and the lights flashing but it’s the customers that make it wild with frenetic energy. It's in the way they move and chase their addictions.

It's any wonder the Foxes have survived this long.

              (11:40pm) >>> Are you going to talk to me or not?

His phone rings. Kevin blinks blearily at the screen and puts it to his ear.

“Jean?” he says. His hand is shaking but that’s one reason he drinks: if he’s drunk then his hand could be shaking from the alcohol he’s ruining his body with.

He can’t hear a thing. The pounding music is too loud and worms its way into his brain.

“Wait a moment,” he says into the phone. He won’t hear a reply even if there is one. Kevin staggers through the crowd of dancers, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. He makes it out onto the street with minimal injury. He shakes out his trod-on foot and overbalances. His phones cracks as he bears his weight on it.

Kevin runs his finger over the shattered screen, the grooves pinching slightly against the pad, and sees the outgoing call. “Hello?” he says.

“Oh! There you are!” he hears.

Kevin peers around hazily. The street is busy with people and cars and not one gives him a second glance.

“The party you’re at sounds _wild_ , Kevin, I hadn’t thought you the type.”

“Jeremy,” he says, surprise colouring his voice. He almost jumps to his feet in excitement.

“Jeremy,” he says again, delight painting the words bright, sparkling colours. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He hears Jeremy laugh and notices music and voices fading out in the background before a door clicks shut. Kevin warms at the thought that Jeremy is going somewhere quieter to speak to him.

“Jean said to call you,” Jeremy answers and Kevin feels something in his chest freeze.

No, this feels like the reverse, something is adjusting. He’s starting to learn the difference between fear and nervous anticipation. They usually come hand in hand but not tonight.

“He may have said not to tell you that in retrospect,” Jeremy says sounding uneasy. Kevin imagines him rubbing the back of his neck in consternation.

“I was bothering him,” Kevin says. “I’m—surprised he said anything at all.” He swallows. His chest aches and his stomach roils. He may very well vomit.

“How—” he says faultingly, “How is he?”

“Jean’s good,” Jeremy says warmly. “He’s doing great. He makes a brilliant Trojan.”

“I know,” Kevin says. “I picked the team for him.”

Jeremy snorts with laughter. “You remind me of Jean when you speak so bluntly. Who’d have ever thought I’d know Jean Moreau better than my good friend Kevin Day.”

Kevin feels choked up on emotion. Relief courses through him and he clutches at the curb with a shaking hand. “I’m—I’m glad,” he says roughly.

“Glad we’re no longer so close?” Jeremy teases.

“No,” Kevin says surprised. He wants to tease Jeremy back but he doesn’t know how.

“I’m starting to think you _wanted_ to be replaced, Kevin,” Jeremy goes, “Were you looking for an out? Did you only send me Jean to shake me off your tail? And here I was thinking you wanted to better my team!”

“No,” Kevin says, almost laughing. Almost. He’s struggling to keep up but his chest feels lighter than it has in months. “No, I—didn’t think you could win champions without some assistance,” he manages. It tastes wrong in his mouth - it's an outright lie - but Jeremy laughs.

“Ha!” Jeremy shouts, “I see how it is, Day. Well _you’ll_ see how it is come championships this year.”

All of Kevin’s fears rush to the forefront of his mind. They mess him up and spin his head more than alcohol even will. He wants to tell Jeremy some days he knows they’ll never make it to Nationals with this lineup. He wants Jeremy to tell him that the Foxes are worthy opponents. Mostly he wants someone to notice he’s doing everything he can to make it through to the finals.

“You still with me?” Jeremy asks.

“Is Jean at a party with you?” Kevin blurts. He wants to know how Jeremy ended up calling him. He wants to know what Jean noticed. He needs to know someone cares.

“Oh yeah,” Jeremy says, “He’s being watched over by Laila and Sara. And by watched over I mean they’re smashed and narrating his actions like he’s in a nature documentary.”

“I’m surprised Jean’s at the party,” Kevin says. “I hadn’t thought him the type,” he parrots back.

“Hey now,” Jeremy says, “The two of you are among the best Exy players in the world. You don’t have _types_ , you’re far too ambitious for limitations.”

“You said you hadn't thought me the type,” Kevin reminds him. He thinks it's as close to teasing as he can get.

“I’m well on my way to being drunk. I was surprised and I’m still on my way to being drunk but I stand by this: you’re a force to be reckoned with and damn it Jean is right there with you!” Jeremy says.

Kevin swallows. Sometimes his brain feels like a railroad switch flicking back and forth between two lacking options while a freight train speeds towards a dozen different tracks. “You’re a good Exy player,” he chokes out.

Jeremy laughs. “Kevin! Thank you,” he says. He goes to say something else but Kevin is about to lose his nerve.

“So is Jean,” he says. His heart is pounding double time in his chest and his phone feels slippery in his sweaty hand.

“I completely agree,” Jeremy says.

“If—if you think it’d help him to know I said that, you can tell him,” Kevin says quietly.

There’s a pause that strikes so fast Kevin feels bile hit the back of his throat. He’s not sure that’s fair. He’s not sure Jeremy is the one to entrust this with. Jean should ultimately be making the choice, but Kevin is well on his way to being drunk and—damn it. Selfishly Kevin wants Jean to know, but Jean is better off without him.

“Thanks, Kevin,” Jeremy says suddenly. “I’ll remember that.”

Kevin betrayed Jean without a second thought. Without a first even, Kevin was so preoccupied with his own safety he threw Jean bodily to the lions and the Ravens picked his bones clean.

 

* * *

 

As per pecking order it was Jean’s job to retrieve Kevin.

Jean who took a long, harrowing look at the bones protruding from Kevin’s hand and said, _“You’re never going to play again, you know.”_

Kevin hadn’t wanted to know that.

Jean cleaned up the blood and tried to force the bones back into place. Kevin had screamed, the noise reverberating in the locker room.

Riko had always like breaking people in the locker room for that reason. He liked to prolong the ordeal. He liked how the hollow room would scream back for him.

Jean had watched Kevin’s panic attack take him over. He’d watched quietly while Kevin fell apart. Jean had been right there with him when Kevin recalibrated everything he’d ever known and found it alien and ill-fitting.

Kevin remembers taking a breath and saying, “ _I_ _f you were ever friends with me, get him out of my room. I can’t see him right now.”_

And they had been friends once. In a different life maybe. So Jean had taken Riko as far from Kevin as he could get him within The Nest.

Kevin wonders if Jean would have done it had he known Kevin planned to desert him.

Kevin wonders if Jean would have traded his suffering for Kevin’s had he known.

Kevin knows he made his choice on that in leaving. He would make the same choice every time.

 

* * *

 

The moment Riko shattered Kevin’s hand was the moment Kevin truly realised his worth.

Evermore diminished him. The master and Riko, their empire, lessened him. They had built him piece by piece, coding purpose into his skin and then they had drained the life from him—and very nearly took his will with it.

Kevin had stopped by his room -  _Riko’s room -_ to grab his wallet and coat. He’d have said he’d been running on autopilot, if his creators hadn’t built in a kill switch that kept him complacent and imprisoned.

The shadow of Evermore loomed over him as he left and Kevin didn’t once look back.

 

* * *

 

There’s something about history that catches Kevin’s interest in a way that things unrelated to Exy usually don't. He can't quite put his finger on what the draw card is. The wealth of knowledge, the lessons to be learnt, that people are predictable, that people are _unpredictable_. That there have been people before him that have drawn shit hand’s in life. That they survived and in some cases _thrived_ and then made the history books for their significance. There’s something thrilling about seeing people’s lives documented, to know that people care so much about their existence long after they are dead.

And despite Kevin’s literal _shit hand_ that maybe he's drawn the right cards, that he’s lived the right life, to make history.

It's thrilling knowing he makes history every time he steps onto the court. Someone’s watching and people will still be watching him lifetimes into the future.

Kevin is studying for his history classes. Or he should be. Still, he enjoys the subject for its educational aspects. He’s acing all his classes but his history subjects are the ones he enjoys.

He remembers arriving at PSU as gracefully as a stumbling drunk and with as much cognitive thought. It chaffs to know he would have been crawling to Wymack on his hands and knees had his broken hand been able to support him. As it were, his broken hand is the reason he made it to the Foxes. It was the snapping of his metacarpal bones that had rebooted his perspective—he couldn't turn his cheek from this one. He recalls how he’d signed onto the Foxes and the fear that had enveloped him. His hands had shaken so much he’d thrust them into the pockets of his coat and not removed them until he’d been asked for his signature. In poor penmanship and bleeding black ink Kevin had forged himself a new name with his right hand. Sloppily scrawled, Kevin had signed himself up for a new life.

And then, to his shock, he’d been asked what he would be studying at PSU. He was at University, after all, he needed a degree.

Kevin had signed up for every history course he could and plotted his degree for the next five years that afternoon.

He’d had nightmares occasionally, bizarre yet not unrealistic nightmares. Kevin would dream Riko coming down to PSU and beating him half to death because he was wasting his time on _majoring in history_. The nightmares brought him to a chilled sweat and shattered any chance he had at going back to sleep but there was something thrilling about this opportunity. History gave Kevin something Exy didn’t. It gave him foresight and a glimpse at humanity. It preoccupied his mind with intrigue, it calmed his nerves with fascination, and Kevin found himself satisfied. He thought perhaps it made him happy. And that was endlessly exciting.

Kevin hears a burst of laughter from behind him and it jolts him in surprise. Nicky is out with Aaron and Katelyn, and Andrew is long off his manic medication. No one else who belongs here would be laughing.

He spins his computer chair away from the desk and finds Allison and Renee looking comfortably at home on the Monster’s couch. He has no idea what they’re doing here or when they arrived. Kevin had lost himself on the internet researching Sojourner Truth and the fight for her life from slave to pioneer. Barely a whispering footnote in one of the readings for that week and yet Kevin had found himself curious.

Kevin frowns at them and sounds standoffish when he says: “Can I help you?” Mostly though it's confusion that shortens his words. The Foxes spend time together on the court, on the road, and in Matt and Aaron’s room. Allison and Renee being in foreign territory is foreign territory itself and Kevin struggles with change.

Allison scoffs. “No.”

Kevin is ready to snap back when Renee smiles at him. The Foxes are an over-dramatic prickly team that shorten one another’s tempers like they’re tormenting an opposing team. Renee is neither over-dramatic nor prickly, but she’s all Fox so Kevin gives Allison a pass this time.

“Allison is waiting on Neil and I am waiting on Andrew,” Renee answers. “Neil said it was okay if we waited here for them, but we could just as easily wait in our room.”  

Kevin shakes his head, “It's fine.”

Renee smiles, it's more with her eyes than her mouth—the skin at the corners of her eyes crease and crinkle where her mouth only quirks. “How are you enjoying your history classes this semester?” she asks.

Kevin is pleased that she asks. “I—very much,” he says.

Renee nods, her interest in his answer clear, but words fail him. Kevin knows how to small talk with NCAA Exy coaches attempting to scout him, enthusiastic journalists who pull apart his every word, and daunting people of the Exy world who once knew his mum. He does not know how to make conversation with people who care.

He’d complained loudly and brilliantly about leaving his history books back at Evermore when he first arrived because he hadn’t wanted to talk about Riko. He’d been told to shut the fuck up by the Foxes so many times he’d cowed. He did not speak to any of them about his history now.

Allison saves him. He thinks it's intentional. She flicks her long curling hair over her shoulder and tugs Renee around to face her in lieu of fixing her collar. “Since he is enjoying it _so much_ , let’s let him get back to it.”

Renee smiles over her shoulder at him once more and says: “Another time.”

Kevin wants to take her up on that offer. He feels shaky with emotion he isn’t used to and spins back around to his desk to reimmerse himself. It doesn’t really work.

He can hear Allison and Renee making plans for a hiking trip and it makes him think of Thea. They used to exercise side by side. Sometimes in silence, only their harsh exhales to be heard, but too caught up in their narrowed concentration to notice. Sometimes they’d compete. They’d bait another athlete in the area with scathing comments and honest criticisms until they pushed themselves hard and harder. Thea and Kevin would match their pace and it would silently egg them on. Among the Raven it would go on and on until they were gasping for breath and all had become literal sore losers to an immature and unspoken game. Kevin misses that silent conversation of theirs. How in tune they’d been. He misses someone challenging him. Neil almost does it for him but he’s wont to scarper after their training sessions. Thea shadowed him after, or let him shadow her and they’d pass notes to one another when Riko wasn’t looking.

Kevin clears his throat when Allison’s bright tone distracts him from his thoughts. He never started back at his homework or meandering research after her diversion. Thea had always distracted him.

“Andrew and Neil are at the dining hall,” he says because he needs interference for this line of thought and he can read and read and read but he won’t remember a word of it now.

“Yes,” Renee says, “Andrew texted me. They should be home soon.”

“Where are you taking them?” Kevin asks. His leg jackhammers up and down.

“Neil and I are going across town to get some of his clothes embroidered,” Allison says.

“...why?” Kevin asks.

Allison rolls her eyes. “I said he needed a new wardrobe and we all know he can afford one so I told him we were going shopping. He agreed but wanted to keep some of his old raggedy clothes for _sentimental value._ Most of them have holes in them though and that won’t do.”

“Allison says the embroiderers do Palmetto’s Official Fox paw,” Renee puts in.

“I hope one of his shirts has so many holes in it it looks like Neil’s been walked on by a Fox that has stepped in orange paint,” Allison says gleefully.

“That’s hardly haute couture,” Kevin says. He doesn’t understand her fondness for Neil. He understands being fond of Neil but not how she expresses it.

Allison waves him off, “ _Sentimental value_ , Kevin. He’ll have plenty of other clothing to appear on the cover of GQ in.”

Renee makes a contemplative noise in Allison’s direction, “Do you have appropriate clothing for our hike?” Her low voice has a teasing lilt to it that has Allison leaning into her side.

“I’m an _athlete_ , my dear,” Allison replies, “I’m more than prepared for a walk in the park.” She gathers her hair up onto her head in a loose bun and pulls a hair tie slowly off her wrist with her teeth. Her eyes don't leave Renee's.

“Would you like a hand?” Renee offers. Her fingers twitch in her lap.

Allison hums in consideration. She twists the hair tie tightly into place and then ruffles the curls artfully until her bun is messy and loose.

“Be my mirror would you,” Allison says lightly. She positions her shoulders and tilts her chin like she’s a 1930s socialite with a fox fur stole wrapped around her.

Renee cocks her head slightly and looks long and slow.

Kevin shifts uncomfortably. There’s more tension in the room than when Allison and Seth used to drop double entendres before eye-fucking one another.

Kevin is thankful when Renee speaks too quietly for him to hear. Allison’s cheeks flush considerably though and her smile is far to intimate for Kevin to handle.

“Where are you taking Andrew, Renee?” he says loudly, leaning over his desk and typing nonsense rapidly into the search bar. He doesn’t look over when she speaks.

“We’re going for coffee. Well,” she amends and gives quiet, pleased smile, “I am. Andrew is going to try this new milkshake blend he heard about.”

Kevin makes a disgusted noise and points his finger at her. “Do not pander to him, Renee, Andrew needs to start taking care of himself. His diet is appalling and it will have a detrimental effect of his ability to play.”

Renee shakes her head mildly. “I want Andrew to enjoy himself. He does it rarely, Kevin, you’re aware of that.”

Chastised, Kevin busies himself while he thinks of a reply. She’s right but so is he and Kevin is sick to death of watching Andrew only skim the top of the food pyramid. Andrew can do better. It infuriates Kevin that he does not care to.

Renee tries to continue conversation that includes Kevin but its stilted.

Kevin thinks all of his conversations these days are stilted.

He misses Riko doing all the talking for him.

He misses passing notes with Thea; them never saying much but still causing a thrill nonetheless.

Kevin stifles a sigh and tries to concrete. He does his best to block out Renee and Allison. He’s exhausted from trying to keep up with their conversation when they all subscribe to such differing opinions.

It doesn’t work. His ears keep picking up what they’re saying. He wants them to leave. He has homework he should be doing.

“I want to check out that [ Booband](https://thebooband.com/),” Allison is saying, “If it's any good I want it.”

Thea wears Boobands. She wears them for all exercise she does and had every women at Edgar Allan wearing them within a month. She’d bought them in black for practice, but Kevin had seen neon green and pink hidden away in her draws once.

She wears the bright colours now. Kevin likes how simply the rainbow she wears shout her disillusionment with the Ravens and their controlling nature. He wants to see her in orange.

Allison mentions the hot pink to Renee, flicking that particular colour striped in Renee's hair, and gets an interested noise in response.

Kevin recalls Dan saying the team needs to get along.

The conversation is quickly leading into new territory so Kevin bites the bullet and blurts: “Thea swears by them.”

Allison immediately stops talking. He’s not facing her but he can imagine her raising a shaped eyebrow at him.

“The Booband,” Kevin says uneasily while looking at his notes. “Thea’s been using them for years.” He glances hastily over his shoulder.

Allison stares him down, surprised at him interruption.

Renee makes a noise of encouragement for him to continue.

Kevin doesn’t have anything else to say.

Allison settles back into the couch and rests her chin in her hand. “I can’t say I’ve seen her wearing them. I can’t say much for her dress style at all.”

Kevin wants to bristle and ask where she could have cultivated a _dress style_ as a Raven who had had every decision dictated for her.

“She should wear them on the outside of her clothes and contact the company,” Allison says. “Your girlfriend is becoming a big name. Her endorsement would be worth a lot.”

Kevin mutters an agreement and goes back to studying.

He doesn’t know what to say and he hates the way the girls stare waiting for his response, one calm and expectantly unexpectant and the other intense and scrutinising.

 

* * *

 

Thea’s twitter is silent. Her team is anything but. The Houston Sirens @ her daily in articles about their team and their season. He clicks link after link about her apparent interest in rock climbing, opera, and of course Exy. She follows NASA, Rihanna and the Bronx Zoo’s Cobra. She frequently likes posts from Hope Mwinzi, Mary Akangbe and Michelle Obama. She only ever reblogs tweets about Exy.

Kevin misses her.

He wants her to turn up at his door just like she did last year. Thea is so unpredictable that it's a fantasy he can't quite let go of.

He remembers the first time he saw her play. He was so much younger and at that point she was inconceivably attainable. They were young then, the age difference keeping him unquestionably a child in her teenage eyes. That's not what he’d been thinking of then, not romance or relationships. Maybe honest human connection build on trust and mutual care but never so articulate—only in the anxious buzzing of his stomach and hands that distanced him from anyone but Riko.

No, Kevin had watched Thea plough the opposition onto their back and been instantly impressed. He’d had little interest in backliners before Thea.

He’d had little interest in Exy players beyond Riko for a long time. As long as the Ravens were performing, Kevin only had one or two things to be focusing on. Usually just the number one. Jean would flitter in and out of his interest but they’d been friends once and Kevin hadn’t been willing to sacrifice himself for Jean. So when things became turbulent in The Nest and Riko needed a less expensive punching bag, Riko would zero in on Jean and Kevin would quietly look away. Jeremy also, would catch Kevin’s attention. Him being such a forward and friendly person would have them talking briefly before and after games growing up. There were Ravens whom they scouted who, for the duration of their application through to their confirmed recruitment, would weigh on Kevin’s mind.

Andrew, who had said no.

Kevin had thought about him often after that confrontation. He had never said, and likely never would, but there had been a measure of relief in becoming a Fox and recalling as he walked into the dorms that Andrew Minyard was no friend of Riko’s.

All of those people had briefly drawn Kevin’s attention from Riko because they were something Kevin needed.

Thea Muldani had _dragged_ Kevin’s attention toward her not long after he joined the roster officially with his neck caught in an efficient headlock. She grabbed him after a failed drill, wrapped her chiseled arms around his throat and told him to _watch where he was goddamn going_. They’d been watching one another before they crashed and they hadn’t stopped clashing since.

Thea had surprised him again and again since then.

He’d been horrified when she turned down US Court. He hadn’t spoken to her for days after. That was his dream, it had been _her_ dream and she’d told them no, not right now. He hadn’t understood not wanting Court to interfere with her last year of University. He still didn't. He adored his major, but when US Court came to call Kevin would be making history of his own.

Kevin sees her out at fancy dinners and kitschy diners with her team on twitter. They always wear a matching colour on an item of clothing and he knows that’s all Thea because the female Ravens used to do it also. Though never so obviously with the black and gloomy dress code. She writes about the changes to her life she’s made since recently being diagnosed with diabetes. She answers fans when they ask questions about it. She donates to numerous foundations for it. She posts multiple selfies every #blackoutday but never at any other time of the year. Never bar the one time. Kevin has that photo as her contact image in his phone.

Thea surprises Kevin constantly and they haven't spoken in months.

He thinks about calling.

He doesn’t.

He hopes maybe she will.

 

* * *

 

Kevin starts using his twitter more frequently. He hadn’t used it often before, other than to retweet from people he was buttering up and for investigating people. He rarely tweets of his own accord.

When he was in The Nest someone else spoke for him. He’d wanted to start tweeting about his diet. He liked the way people plated food and presented the dishes as something to look at as well as something to enjoy and eat right with. Kevin had meal plans and smoothies he’d created and perfected over the years that he wanted to share. He’d been told no: it wasn’t his account to use.

He tweets about exy. He keeps it casual at first. He retweets everything US Court puts out and anything from the Trojan media team.

Sometimes he sees something the Foxes are interested in but he doesn’t rt or @ them. That seems too intimate and too much like letting the world in. He saves the links even still. He could show them one day.

 

* * *

 

Thea retweets something of his, just once, a feature story on US Court. A story about how it looks from the very top. She adds 100 emoji three times and follows it with confetti. 

Kevin reads the article over and over again.

 

* * *

 

The Foxes win their next game by a single point.

The original Foxes are carrying the team. Nicky has improved drastically. Neil is less reckless, more predictable, if only because they train together. Andrew is participating.

They almost work as a team—there are flashes of a united force once more.

Kevin is using his left hand sometimes as often as his right.

It's not enough.

He says as much in the locker room. He wants something from the Foxes but he doesn’t know what it is. Evermore and Riko had taught Kevin how to bite his tongue until he stopped thinking treasonous thoughts. Kevin learnt to take out the injustice out on the other Ravens. He hadn’t been speaking his mind but at least he’d been speaking.

He doesn’t know what it is he wants to be saying. He just wants the awful churning of his mind, the ache in his hand, the oncoming panic attack—he wants it to all _stop_.

He tells the Foxes they aren't doing enough.

“We won,” some of them say. They repeat it over and over, all their arguments hinging on the one fact.

“It was one damn point,” he snarls.

They don’t argue for long. He hears shower doors slamming as the leave him behind.

Wymack takes him aside later.

He is silent at first. Just looking.

“What,” Kevin snaps. And then the fight rushes out of him. He never knows how to speak to Wymack.

“What going on in that head of yours, Kevin?” Wymack tries.

Kevin is not doing too well and its obvious Wymack knows, but he can’t seem to ask for help. He’s not good enough.

 

* * *

 

Kevin had been trying to study one day when Thea shattered his world view and put a fire in his belly he has struggled to swallow ever since.

Riko hadn't shut up about Thea being in their room since she’d arrived. There'd been no real reason for her visit beyond a desire to and that was unacceptable.

"What the fuck do you want?" Riko demanded.

“I’m tutoring Kevin,” she’d said off the cuff.

Riko had turned to Kevin. “What’s wrong with the tutors we have on hand?” Riko had said, laying his trap.

Kevin had nervously answered: “Thea offered.” And it had felt like an acceptable truth still, she’d just announced it seconds before.

Riko had sneered at Thea and repeated the question. “What’s wrong with the tutors we have on hand?”

“Nothing,” Thea had said blandly.

“Then get out,” Riko had said.

He’d gone into the bathroom without waiting for a reply because he knew: Thea would get out.

Unprompted, she’d hefted her bag onto her shoulder, and leant down to Kevin. _“Does he know you’re better than he is?”_ she’d whispered in his ear.

Kevin had thrown her out.

 

* * *

 

He’d started watching Riko after that though. He’d started dropping comments to all walks of people with inference enough that they let slip who they thought had the most potential.

He’d started thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the lovely comments i've received so far, they're doing wonders on my ego and i sincerely hope all you wonderful people enjoy this chapter also


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will he go? He doesn’t feel like he has much choice but Wymack would put a stop to this if he asked. Andrew—Kevin isn’t his responsibility anymore.
> 
> And yet, he still holds Neil’s hand still.
> 
> “I—yes,” Kevin says, because Neil doesn’t turn up the sound; Nicky said they were a whole and solid team; and Aaron still gives the game his all despite his injuries. Dan said she wanted the team to work together. “I’m going,” he says.
> 
> (or: Kevin's support system)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the few block lines of dialogue in italics are quotes from Nora's extra content, some of this is canon compliant with the extra content and some of it is Very Much Not bc fuck that, let me kno if there's anything that needs tagging and/or you see any grammar mistakes

Matt’s fist comes flying at Kevin’s face and he’s too wound up to dodge. Aaron follows up with solid blow to Kevin’s stomach. The force and precision of their moves send him a little out of his head, his brain spinning and his feet struggling to catch up.

His shout draws them an audience. They’re in Fox Tower and there's always an abundance of athletes working up and working down their building tension.

Matt shoves Kevin away with a disgusted snarl of  teeth and it puts three feet between them. Enough room for Dan and Andrew to step into.

“What the hell is going on here?” Dan barks.

“Kevin is unsurprisingly dissatisfied with his life and wants to take it out on us,” Aaron spits.

Andrew looks at Kevin and he hates it. His face is apathetic, his eyes heavy lidded but he’s looking. Kevin knows Andrew wouldn’t be here and wouldn’t be looking if this didn’t concern him but there isn’t an ounce of emotion on his sober face. He hates that can't get a read of Andrew as he once did. He doesn’t know how to work Andrew to get the outcomes he wants. He never did truly, never needed to either because Andrew knows what’s best for him, but at least when Andrew was high he emoted. At least then Kevin knew where they stood.

“He came at us sniping about our work ethic and then swung at Aaron when he told him to fuck off,” Matt is saying to Dan. She has her hand tucked into the curve of his bruising cheek and her eyes keep flicking to where Aaron is rubbing his forearm.

“Jesus, Kevin,” Dan says, “You ride our asses enough as it is on the court. Give it a rest when we're off duty.”

She doesn't understand. Kevin is never off duty; he lives for Exy. Thanks to Neil’s deal with the Lord he wouldn’t be alive without the sport. If he spits nails and snarls silver tongued mercury it's because he’s in a fight for his life. His knuckles have split from the force of his fight today.

“He wasn't on us about Exy,” Matt says, his brow furrows slightly; his eyes communicating something Dan can understand. “He was saying we need to do better in our classes.”

“Why the fuck would that matter?” Dan says. “Everyone has the grades to keep playing.” Andrew leaves. Kevin wants to know what he’s thinking. He wants to know if leaving Kevin and Aaron together after he attacked him means what it would have once. He doesn’t know anymore—Neil shook the team dynamic up like he was trying to shake the bitterness out of their systems.

Aaron sneers when he see Kevin looking at him. “I give you a run for your money with my grades.”

Kevin scoffs. He has the highest results among the Foxes. Aaron is second best. “And yet I’m not impressed,” he says.

Aaron steps in closer and Matt pulls in tight to his side. Dan still stands between them all, her hands stretched out just so to hold them apart, but Aaron is where he wants to be.

“We’re not here to impress you, Kevin,” Aaron says, “and we’re certainly not here to be your punching bags when you get scared you're going to fail yet again in life.”

Kevin surges forward and Dan gets her forearm across his throat. The press of hard bone against the delicate skin of his neck gives easily and Kevin jerks back as his throat caves. Dan doesn’t follow. She was barely on him for a second but Kevin knows how vulnerable the throat is. Andrew taught him that. He felt the threat she posed.

“Fuck this,” Aaron says and shoves past them all. He pushes a path through the dwindling onlookers and heads for the stairs. Kevin would mock him for running off to Katelyn if he didn't wish he could run off to Thea right now. Thea has always been better at fighting.

Dan catches her balance first. She tells the first years to leave. Kevin and the Upperclassmen remain in the hallway.

He is about to go back to studying. He feels drained after that fight and he has multiple throbbing bruises but his assignment is still waiting.

He needs to get a fucking grip on it. He knows his stuff. It's not that hard. He can't fail at yet another thing.

Kevin steps away from what's left of his team and finds a palm held inches from his face.

Dan drops her hand and she has this look in her eye—Kevin is bracing himself before he realises it.

“You’re coming with me on Friday,” she say.

And it is so much like Andrew stealing people off the Columbia that Kevin fears for his life.

“ _No_ , I—we’re going to Eden’s this weekend. Andrew’s said,” Kevin manages and he feels like he has curfew all of a sudden and an overbearing parent. It's the opposite strangely, Kevin has never had so much freedom in his life. He doesn’t know what to do it all. His body can only handle so much Exy practice before it needs to rest.

Dan glances down briefly and then her dark brown eyes are set on him once more.

He does not want to go with his Captain.

Dan doesn’t give a shit.

“You’re coming with me,” she says again.

And because she is his Captain and obedience is a muscle memory he learnt to survive: he goes.

 

* * *

 

It takes him two days to script his plea, another two to muster up the courage to ask and a passing comment to undo all that progress.

Nicky shoves as much of his body between the front seats as he can with a seat belt on and reaches for the radio. Andrew points a threatening finger at him.

“I’ve found another conspiracy station for us to listen to,” Nicky argues. He lists off the frequency. Andrew follows his direction and the car fills with the vigorous discussion of whether Chupacabra could survive on cold blooded animals.

Nicky laughs. “What do you reckon, Andrew? There's no way. It's all in the name and zombies only eat humans by most lore. Let's try aim for some logical consistency.”

To Kevin’s astonishment, Andrew hums in response. He feels a prickle in his eyes and wrenches Nicky back into his seat.

“Dan wants me to go somewhere with her this Friday,” he says desperately to the back of Andrew’s head. Kevin’s heart thuds in his ears as he waits. He can hear the others responding but he knew they would. It isn't their reaction he wants.

Tension builds as Andrew stays silent. Kevin feels as he does every time he goes to open his class results. He needs to know more than he fears the answer but god does it scare the fuck out of him.

Andrew reaches for the rear view mirror and tilts it until their eyes meet. His heavy lidded eyes stare back blankly before returning to the road. Kevin slumps back in his seat and curls his arms around himself. He should have known better.

“Kevin,” Neil is saying. He looks into the side mirror to catch Kevin’s eye. Kevin can see the way his mouth twists in something a mix between concern and curiosity. “What does Dan want?”

“You want to join their side now?” Aaron sneers. He is squashed against the window, the pair of them separated by Nicky’s bulk and their own distaste for one another. “They won’t want you.”

“We don’t have sides now,” Nicky says, “We’re a team.”

“Maybe she's got some hazing planned for you,” Neil baits, “Matt’s face is still bruised.”

Kevin bristles and tries to tune them out.

“Yeah and I can't keep the racket up for long thanks to you,” Aaron says. “There’s some poetic justice in that though seeing as you sabotaged yourself. How are the rookies fulfilling your dream team?”

They’re average. Aaron pulls Nicky and Matt together like he is the cog that sits between theirs’. Matt may be the best of them but Aaron is cousin and roommate to their lineup—he bridges any divide. The rookie backliners are barely worth a Class 1 title. They know their strengths, ignore their weaknesses, and have no patience to recognise either in their teammates.

Andrew readjusts the mirror. His face hasn't changed one wit but he moved the mirror to catch Kevin’s eye again. He’s tempted to sit forward and out of the mirror’s sight just to provoke another reaction out of Andrew.

“What _do_ you know?” Nicky asks doubtfully. They’ve taken his silence as ignorance. Their reasoning is wrong but they’re on the money with the conclusion.

“Dan told me to—she said to come with her on Friday. I don't know what for. I mentioned Eden’s but she’s adamant,” Kevin says. Andrew’s eyes are on the road.

“Are you going?” Neil says. He is no longer looking. Dan will tell him what’s going down for sure, Kevin thinks bitterly. His attention is on the radio dials like he’s about to turn it up again. Kevin hadn’t noticed who turned it down.

Andrew rests his fingers on Neil’s when they connect with the sound dial. Andrew’s eyes are on Kevin.

Will he go? He doesn’t feel like he has much choice but Wymack would put a stop to this if he asked. Andrew—Kevin isn’t his responsibility anymore.

And yet, he still holds Neil’s hand still.

“I—yes,” Kevin says, because Neil doesn’t turn up the sound; Nicky said they were a whole and solid team; and Aaron still gives the game his all despite his injuries. Dan said she wanted the team to work together. “I’m going,” he says.

Andrew releases Neil’s hand after a squeeze. He gives Kevin a thumbs up. It takes Kevin a second to understand. And when he does it shocks him. Kevin might not be able to read Andrew’s face anymore but his hands are still as expressive as ever. He spent a year with Andrew crashing every Friday night and two years with all the Fox infighting—it was exhausting. Kevin knows how Andrew responds when nonverbal. The thumbs up isn't the permission part of Kevin craves or the approval another part of him desperately searches for. It's an acknowledgement.

 _I hear you_ , Andrew says.

 

* * *

 

They arrive at Wymack’s apartment as the sun begins creeping towards the horizon. They don’t stay long. They’re barely in the door, Dan calling out that they’re ready to go as she steps inside, before Wymack appears with a duffel bag over his shoulder. Dan has an equally packed rucksack.

Wymack gives Kevin a gruff once over and mutters under his breath. Kevin’s knee jerk reaction is to shout something at him but he’s feeling more and more unprepared the longer this night goes on. Wymack disappears into his closet, Dan having already gone down to the ground floor, so Kevin hovers in the doorway—a foot on either side of the threshold.

Wymack returns with a soft black overcoat that caresses Kevin’s hands despite the roughness with which it gets shoved at him. “Y’damn kids,” Wymack says, and Kevin backs out of the doorway as to avoiding getting bowled over. Wymack doesn’t pause, he heads to the elevator. “You’re fully capable of dressing yourself.”

“I have no idea where we’re going,” Kevin snaps, the downy jacket crushes easily in his fists.

That surprises Wymack enough to have him glance over his shoulder, he doesn’t stop though and Kevin debates whether to catch up or fuck off. Andrew’s lot haven't left yet.

“Dan didn’t tell you?” Wymack asks. “We’re going to the duck pond.”

“We’re doing  _what?”_ Kevin bolts after Wymack and catches him as the elevator opens. “Why the fuck—”

“Do you ask Andrew this many questions?” Wymack asks curiously. It's only as he presses for the ground floor multiple times that Kevin recognises Wymack is uncomfortable.

Kevin shakes it off; he didn’t want to come, it's not his problem. “I haven’t asked anything yet,” he starts. “Why the _fuck_ —”

“Kevin,” Wymack says, he sounds tired. “Dan didn’t say anything for a reason I’m sure. Let’s wait and see what she has planned.”

There’s nothing Kevin wants to do less. Dan hasn’t told him anything of their plans because she wants to fuck with him and will take any excuse not to talk to him, of that he’s sure. Wymack’s phrasing catches his attention though. “Who invited me?” he demands. “What is this?” He can’t keep eye contact all of a sudden, can’t even look in Wymack’s direction. His skin prickles and Kevin’s eyes drop to the floor. He can feel a panic attack coming on. The elevator walls pull in closer, the gunmetal grey of them distorts his reflection—his mouth is pulled into a scream.

“Kevin,” Wymack says again. He no longer sounds tired, he sounds calm and Kevin does his best to latch onto that. “Dan and I both want you here. We go out to the duck pond every once in awhile because it's a nice place. You aren’t being forced to come.”

“It doesn’t—” he chokes out. “I don’t— _Tell Dan that_.”

Wymack sighs and when he speaks it’s more to himself than Kevin. “What’s with you damn fucks kidnapping one another? Why can’t you hash it out over a shitty overpriced coffee instead?”

With Wymack needlessly griping in his ears, Kevin take a moment for himself. The elevator doors slide open and it's with some relief he leaves the small compartment. He pulls the coat on and rubs his hands up and down his arms as he strides through the lobby. The free open air outside cools him immediately and Kevin sucks in great cold breathes of the coming winter.

Dan straightens from her reclined lean against Wymack’s car. She watches him with a heavy gaze before pulling the passenger door open.

Kevin squeezes his biceps until he thinks he feels his worn out bones. He hadn’t seen Wymack give Dan his keys.

He side steps when he hears Wymack’s footsteps behind him. He can see both of them flanking him. Neither are looking at him. Wymack has his phone out and Dan is rummaging through her bag in the footwell.

Kevin gets in the car. It's a poor attempt at getting away from them but its space he wants, not to leave. Not yet at least, this is unfamiliar ground and Kevin knows they’ve spent the last few months at rock bottom.

Dan holds a small thermos between the front seats. She keeps digging through her bag as she does. Kevin pulls back from where he’s sunk against the car door and takes it. Dan doesn’t look up, she climbs into the seat and puts on the belt.

Kevin unscrews the bottle with numb fingers and the pungent smell of alcohol hits his nose. Dan barely turns. She side eyes him and holds a finger loosely to her lips. Kevin thinks she would be smiling if he were one of her friends.

The vodka burns as he swallows. Kevin covers his sour grimace and curling tongue as Wymack takes the driver's seat.

It's a fifteen minute drive across campus and Kevin keeps a tight grip on the thermos the whole way. His fingers leave warm, sweaty spots on the chilled metal.

As they head into the wooded area surrounding the pond, they pass a cul-de-sac that leads off to PSU’s Hanover House. Kevin can’t help but crane his head to look. The cypress wood house had originally been built by a French Huguenot in 1688. Paul de St. Julien had named the building after the House of Hanover, a German royal dynasty that had taken in refugees of the Revocation of the Edict of Fontainebleau. The Huguenot Protestants had briefly been given rights in the Catholic state to promote civil unity until the Revocation have happened. After the prosecution, millions of Protestants had fled France in search of safety. Kevin had spent hours sitting around the property as he read up on its history. On either side of the house there was a towering brick chimney for the house’s two fireplaces. Banded around one of the chimney's the inscription PEU À PEU reads. The full proverb: _Little by little, the bird builds his nest._

Wymack pulls into the carpark for the Butterfly Garden and they follow the road on foot. Between the woods and the setting sun sits a duck pond. Kevin freezes. It’s not quite the right setting but Kevin’s mind doesn’t care for specifics when he’s so on edge.

A man pulls up to a lake, his son accompanies him. They pull out fishing rods, bait, and lures. They spend a good five minutes making sure they’re slathered in mosquito repellent. It’s the cliché. The media is rife with it.

It’s not quite right though. Before him it is a man and woman walking towards this makeshift lake.

Kevin can’t get his feet to move. Isn’t sure he’d want to even if he could.

Because Wymack is his dad but he’s not. And Wymack isn’t Dan’s dad but he is.

Kevin is not Wymack’s child in this scenario.

He sees their figures merge into the woods; the light fading too fast to tell if they are between the trees or beyond them. He hears them laugh.

Kevin gives himself five minutes to sit and breathe.

 

* * *

 

On the edge of the pond, Wymack and Dan stand watching the ducks. The birds kick and puddle their feet like speed boat propellers driven by rich fattened drivers hooning around the choppy water.

Only the ducks turn when Kevin steps onto the bank.

They stand in silence, hands buried in pockets and breath misting the air. A gust of white balloons from Wymack’s mouth.

“It’s been a tough season,” he says eventually. He seems in no rush to speak. “And a tougher fucking life.”

He gives a nod toward the setting sun; on cue Dan and he begin unpacking their bags.

“There’s some great views around here,” Wymack says to Kevin. In response Kevin steps closer to their bags to see what they’re unloading. He understands what he sees but it's so incongruous from what he knows he says nothing.

“I hear you like taking photos,” Wymack says and hold out to Kevin a professional looking camera.

“From who,” Kevin says tightly. He doesn’t take his hands from his pockets. Sunset gleams off the exposed camera lens and paints a pretty picture.

“Nicky,” Wymack answers. He shakes the camera at Kevin. And of course. Kevin craves the overcrowded dorm room like he craves absolution but privacy is a foreign concept when everyone shares the same space.

Kevin doesn’t have a professional camera. He had had one in The Nest and he’d used one for his photography elective last semester, he knew what he was doing. Nicky had come across him taking photos from their dorm window. He’d had the orange and brown coloured plastic wrapped around his phone, the edges just overlapping the lens. The photos hadn’t come out how he’d liked. He’d needed a professional camera for what he wanted. PSU had been darkened by the oncoming night and the streetlights and spotting rooms lit up by its inhabitants across the sprawling campus burned like fire. Palmetto looked at once inviting and threatening. Nicky had wanted Kevin to show him the trick to the colour overlap.

He snatches the camera from Wymack and sets about adjusting the settings.

“I didn’t know you took photos,” he mutters darkly.

Wymack shrugs. “You’ve seen Dan’s wall,” he says. Kevin had not been talking about Dan. “And I’ve dabbled in photography over the years.”

“How?” Kevin demands. He doesn’t miss Dan scowling at his tone. It shakes him that they all have something in common beyond Exy.

“I injured myself one summer in college. Fucked up my knee but you couldn’t get me away from the court—sound familiar?” Wymack says and Dan laughs. Wymack goes on before Kevin can prompt him. “So my Coach had me take photos for prosperity's sake. I worked as a photojournalist for a little while after college. I can’t stand the politics all tied up with journalism but the money wasn’t bad. I took photos for a friend of mine’s wedding when the photographer left halfway through on account of our ‘attitude’. _I_ run our social media you know,” he says wryly. “Like I said, I’ve dabbled.”

“Hire me on to run our social media after I graduate, Coach,” Dan says with a teasing smile. “You’ve seen my wall and I can edge you out of your job right from under your nose.”

“Jesus, be patient kid, I’m still kicking yet,” Wymack says, a put upon scowl on his face if Kevin’s ever seen one.

Dan snaps a photo of him and dances out of the way when he grabs for the camera. Wymack settles for flipping her off. With quick hands, Dan takes another. She gives the photo a look of triumph, “That's going on the wall.”

Dan and Wymack look at each other and cuts Kevin to the quick: it's the same smile, bright in the eyes and bared in the teeth.

Kevin flicks a stone aggressively into the water with his foot and sprays dirt up over his legs. The ducks flee with piercing shrieks and the water shakes. He needs to know he’s here and not some cursed incorporeal observer. He fumbles for the camera and takes a photo of the fearful ducks.

“I always like taking pictures of the ducks returning home,” Wymack says. He’s closer than he was before. Kevin looks for Dan and finds her heading back towards the car park. She’s off like a shot; like if she hesitates she’ll stop herself.

“You’ve seen the wall,” Wymack repeats in amusement, “Dan likes taking photos of people.”

The hard line of Kevin’s shoulders soften. He’s counted. He’s looked over the wall of Foxes, past and present. Their faces caught in a myriad of expressions. He’s counted and there’s no less photos of him on that wall than anyone else. He can’t stand most of them, they’re bad angles or from cut outs of fact-poor interviews but he’s there. Dan made sure of that. He doesn’t know why she would.

Wymack pulls away and heads around the pond when the silence carries on and on.

He gets that Wymack is welcoming him and showing him he has a place but he still feels like number two compared to Dan. Not to mention all this means nothing in terms of Exy. What’s the use?

He wants to ask them questions but Kevin has trouble with words. They’re always within reach but they’re sharp and biting and sometimes it's best to leave them alone. He thinks a lot of people would rather he never spoke again.

He envies Andrew’s command of words and Neil’s emotional intelligence. Neither of them are nice but they know how to get shit done and can splint wounds when they desire. Kevin knows he’s started his healing process. Sometimes being alone feels okay and being in a crowd under the open sky is starting to feel normal. He’s thinking about visiting Dr. Dobson. The Moriyamas have backed off. He’s here isn't he?

Dan comes back with the thermos. That too, makes him feel better.

She takes a mouthful as she comes over. With a steady fortitude she holds eye contact with Wymack, her face open and relaxed—she contorts, gasping against the burn and laughing at the look on Wymack’s face.

“Where is the damn coffee?” he says with an unsurprised scowl.

Dan shrugs, she’s holding back a smile.

Wymack rolls his eyes and heads for the car. “I’m your Coach, I can't condone you drinking.”

Kevin’s heart thuds rapidly in his chest. Dan offers him the thermos.

She starts talking about the team. Its shop talk. They discuss strategy and improvements and he can do _this_. He can talk Exy for days. And as tense as their relationship is, when they get going it's like talking to Neil. Dan is combatant in her opinions and Kevin argues most of them but they both come out satisfied.

“Neil is going to be Captain soon,” Dan says, her voice is warm and her chin rises just so. “He’s come far since he got here.”

Kevin agrees. “At our night practise on Tuesday, we were doing shootouts against Andrew. We weren’t doing penalties, we were trying to outsmart him. Neil ran at the goal left of the centre, and just before he hit the line marking goalkeeper territory, he swung. He spun almost 360 on the spot as he threw his whole body into the swing. He followed it through and around rather than releasing the ball. The rotation shot the ball over onto the right side of the goal! Andrew didn’t have time to correct his lunge to the left—he never saw it coming.” Kevin thrills again just as he had watching Neil move. His fast footwork and the compact size of Neil’s body had added wondrous momentum and power to the whirlwind action. Kevin would need practise before he could land the shot. That Neil could think up the move and perform it on the spot was testament to his skill and progress.

“Shit,” Dan says impressed, “I can’t wait to see him do that in game.”

“Me neither,” Kevin says. If Andrew hadn’t been fast enough to block the shot no one would be.

“Maybe after that play these first years will cooperate with him better.” Her face shifts and she side eyes Kevin thoughtfully. “You know there’ll be more newbies next year.”

“I know that,” Kevin snaps. “I help pick them.” He recalls the panic attack he brought on in that first year just the other month and knows Dan’s thinking the same. The first years have given him a wider berth since then but they’ve also kept a tighter grip on their rackets.

Dan raises her eyebrows at him and he can’t help but spit at her: “A new batch of players doesn’t change the inherent strengths of our team.”

She looks smug. He bristles that in spiting her he gave her what she wants but Dan’s moved on. “The Foxes will be fine,” she agrees. It's not wistful like it has been of late. Dan put everything into the team and Kevin would say she’s gotten far less back. She had been knocking players into place long before Andrew and Neil got here. No, her tone isn’t reminiscent or mournful. Dan is confident: the Foxes are going to be fine. Kevin hears how he’s included in that and like a self fulfilling prophecy something eases in Kevin. His breath leaves his mouth warm and light.

He needed to come out tonight with Dan and Wymack. He needed the reminder he has something stalwart in his life.

“You’ll make a good Wymack,” he says.

Dan jerks back, her mouth open, and her eyes stunned. Then her mouth twists and spoils. “What would you know?” she hurls at him.

Kevin flinches. He wants to say he’s my Dad, but he’s her’s too; her’s more so and that’s Dan’s point. What would he know?

“He saved me too,” he says instead. It's not really relevant, but there’s an affinity in Dan and him then begins and ends with David Wymack.

“And look how you repaid him,” she says. Kevin swallows. She's not even looking at him.

They’ve had this talk; they’ve agreed to brush it over for the sake of their team and the futures they work towards. He can’t believe he brought this fight broiling back to the surface with a well meaning compliment. There’s a part of Kevin that is desperate to be softer, more welcoming. Another part of him scoffs at the point to such a nature and every once in awhile he’ll try to pull on the snake skin to see how it fits and something revolts. Dan has certainly not taken with it, but then, Kevin thinks, it might be like Jean. It's not him she needs to hear this from.

“It's going to take me a long time to forgive you for what you did to him,” Dan says.

The sting of rejection works its way up his spine but he holds it off. He has things to say.

“Me too,” Kevin whispers.

 

* * *

 

Things sit better between Dan and Kevin after that. They aren’t friends, but amicable teammates. Kevin rests easy. Dan knows Kevin mourns the relationship he could have been having with Wymack–the relationship he could still have but is not ready for. He mourns what he put Wymack through and Dan mourns with him.

 

* * *

 

The next Friday Kevin goes to Columbia with Andrew’s lot. His drinking gets interrupted by a fight and the subsequent mess blocking the bar. They aren’t involved but it's a hindrance still. There is a strange twenty minutes where they play Go Fish on a miniature deck of cards Nicky charmed off some guy with cheap off-season New Year's rubbish. Neil and Kevin can see one another's cards from their cramped seating position and they silently team up. Nicky and Aaron do the same. Andrew’s eyes weigh increasingly on the varying smug smiles around the table as he loses. When they arrive in Columbia Andrew makes an aborted move like he will shut Neil out of their room and it's the first time Kevin hears something like a laugh from Neil.

After he’s recovered from partying and the strange turn of events, he goes to Wymack’s. He shoves a card under his door and doesn’t knock. The card is exy themed and unmarked except for his pricey Kevin Day signature – the new right-handed one, wobbly but honest – and a months old timestamp. He doesn’t particularly care if Wymack figures the date out or not. Buying a card for Father’s Day had felt cheap and performative. This feels sincere.

 

* * *

 

Kevin buys himself cufflinks for the next time he needs to suit up. The Foxes aren’t due for a NCAA banquet for a few months but he has a semi-prominent media presence.

Kayleigh had favoured button-ups and blouses. She’d always admired others cufflinks but never bought any of her own.

It had felt like they’d never had time for frivolities. Kevin wants to redefine his life and he wants to be the one writing the definition.

 

* * *

 

“You can come whenever we go to the duck pond,” Wymack had said as they packed away the cameras.

“No,” Kevin says.

For Dan he thinks.

Because he’s not ready he thinks. He needs some distance.

“Dan and I discussed it,” Wymack says, “We decided this together.”

The ducks come skidding back onto the pond and Wymack rushes, swearing and red faced, to get to his camera in time. Dan runs back from the car to mock him with her camera and delighted smile.

_Little by little, the Fox builds his nest._

“I’ll think about it,” Kevin says to them later as they pile breathlessly into the car.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know how old he was. He could figure it out if he tried. He very distinctly remembers before and after finding the letter. He doesn’t care to though, that's not what matters.

No, he discovers he has a father in blotted ink and browning paper.

He finds out what David Wymack meant to Kayleigh Day.

He steals the letter from the master against better judgement.

It is his first act of revolt.

 

* * *

 

They win the next few games.

Just barely, but the point gap increases each time. Kevin still has panic attacks just as frequently but they’re easier to come down from. He still drinks excessively but he doesn’t feel so resentful of himself when he struggles to get up the next morning.

 

* * *

 

Kevin is watching the ERC awards ceremony from his dorm room when Thea wins the Avila Memorial Award. Neil is the only other person who cared to watch and he doesn’t comment when Kevin startles. He hadn’t known Thea had been nominated. He’s not surprised she won; she without a doubt demonstrates the greatest all-round ability in position as a backliner. But she’d never said a thing. No one had. There had been some discussion of Kevin assisting in hosting and presenting of awards this year but he’d declined. There wouldn’t be any specific commemoration for Riko this year, but Kevin knew he’d be up for discussion. No one had mentioned that Thea was up for the award, but then why would they? They weren’t out.

Kevin can feel Neil watching him warily. He seems to rally though, voicing a neutral: “This is a big deal.” Well, neutral in tone.

It might even be an opening to talk. Kevin doesn’t take it. He doesn’t know how to say he feels like he’s missing out on Thea’s life.

“She’s the first black woman in the league to win the Avila Memorial Award,” Kevin says awkwardly. Thea is wearing a yellow wrap dress and she gives a firm handshake to the presenter and host. His shoulders pull back and he sits up straighter. Kevin can feel a small smile take over his mouth.

Kevin gushes about Thea in the after game interviews the next Friday because he doesn't feel like he can call her.

She retweets every quote of his that makes it to twitter.

 

* * *

 

It is not until the front door opens and light spills through the darkened room does Kevin realise time has gotten away from him. He shivers and his body protests the movement.

He doesn’t know what time it is or how long he’s been sitting there but—he wants to talk to Thea.

Andrew and Neil don’t acknowledge him for a while. They turn on the lights and Kevin blinks and blinks until his eyes adjust.

They take off their coats and shoes and get ready for bed. Kevin thinks they’re hoping he’ll snap out of this mood before they have to intervene. He won’t though. He’s been caught up in this way of thinking for months now and there's only one balm.

He wants to call Thea. He has her contacts open on his phone. He has for hours.

He only moves when the screen goes dark.

He misses her.

He wants to tell her they’re winning again. He wants to congratulate her on her wins. God, he wishes he’d been in the audience when she’d received the award. He’d dreamt last night he’d been the one to present it to her. Her face had been serious and proud when she accepted the award. When he’d woken he’d still been able to feel the firm squeeze of her handshake.

It's been three months since they last spoke. The quick phone call had been prompted by Thea receiving a nasty check. Kevin had watched her helmet bounce off the court and called as soon as the game was over.

They’re still playing by Riko’s rules he knows. Keep quiet and don’t make the mistake of believing its real. He has never doubted their relationship. He knows Thea would tell him if it was over. She’s blunt to a fault.

He wants to call her. Something is stopping her too.

Andrew and Neil pause on the way to their room. Kevin doesn’t look up straight away, he keeps his eyes on his phone. Still, the weight of their eye’s pull his focus to them. He sees them clearly: Andrew’s empty stare and Neil’s steady look.

No one speaks though Kevin opens his mouth a few times.

Andrew’s expressive hands speak where his mouth is silent, he flicks his fingers: _talk._

“I need to call Thea,” he says weakly.

Amends: “I—I want to call Thea.”

Andrew’s chin tilts downwards and he knows Andrew is done. Kevin spent a year with him thick as thieves. As far as he is concerned Kevin answered his own conundrum. And from Andrew’s strict interpretation of language he can see how. Kevin gave two solutions: I need, I want. Take either choice, the answer is obvious: he calls Thea.

His hands shake as Andrew walks away. He bites back a shout and watches him go. Kevin looks to Neil

“It's not that simple,” he wants to say.

And it's not.

He’s scared and unsure and he misses Andrew telling him what to do all the time. In this moment—and far too many others— he almost misses Riko telling him what to do every wasted second of his life.

Neil shifts on his feet before him, then steps closer. Kevin’s pulse speeds up. Neil reaches forward and presses the call button of Kevin’s phone. Kevin jerks it away to late.

“Consider how you’re too chickenshit to call your girlfriend, but have the gall to hang up on her.”

“Are you fucking _kidding me, Neil?”_ Adrenaline hits his system and he knows he’ll duck and run before he stays and fights. “Thea will answer!”

Neil brushes him off with a scoff. “That’s what you want.” He closes the door definitively  behind him.

Kevin hangs up on the first ring.

 

* * *

 

Thea calls him back.

 

* * *

 

Kevin stops breathing when he hears her voice. It's the moment before he scored the winning goal against Evermore. The moment before he swung.

“What is it?” she says, her voice low.

I miss you, he could say.

“I saw your game last week,” he says instead. His voice doesn’t shake but his hands do. Kevin curls up on the couch and presses his useless hand between the seat cushion and his phone. He holds it tight to his ear and closes his eyes.

Thea doesn’t answer immediately and when she says: “And?” it's asking his opinion. His point, he realises. That was probably the most neutral thing he’s ever said to her. Kevin is never neutral. He is apathetic and indifferent, or he is all in.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says roughly.

“Why?” she demands. “What was wrong?”

“No,” he says, “no.” He is not Riko. She can gauge her own performance.

“Riko is dead,” he blurts.

Thea is silent.

“And?” she says after an age.

Kevin thinks about finding her on the court. Years and years ago, he almost took the fall for her. Going back to Thea even after the Moriyamas had said no was the scariest thing he’d ever done. No, the most independent.

They’d fucked that first time but it hadn't gotten Thea out of his system. He’d had his eyes on her for so long his head was full of the strength in her thighs, the cut of her arms, and triumphant tilt of her mouth. Falling would have been so easy. He hadn’t known what to do about her.

Their on-court tension had lessened but Kevin was distracted. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Kevin was an investment, he had an objective and he belonged to Riko. Thea did not have a place in his life and he had not been ready to make one.

The notes were what got to him; their jointly built language in a world where they were silenced.

He’d considered the possibility, something he couldn’t fathom having done now. His own bravado shocks him. Thea had made it clear they could keep up their relationship as it was— _“You fuck like a virgin, maybe some practice will make you better at it,”_ she’d breathed into their sweat soaked skin. Fear and pragmatism had answered. Riko and the master could not know. A occasional fuck was acceptable for the Perfect Court but a budding connection was to be extinguished. Thea hadn’t needed to hear any more; she was a Raven, she valued the same.

Then her graduation had come and Kevin had felt bereft before she’d even left Evermore. He’d found her on the court practicing, he couldn’t remember where Riko had been. That they’d had a moment alone. It had been their first in all the time they’d known one another. That miracle had felt significant. It had felt like it meant something.

Something too much for him to handle.

This unexpected stress was ill-timed. He and Riko had too much on their plates: multiple teams, college classes, a place among the Ravens, and the world’s eyes hawk-like and piercing.

She had been on the cusp of graduation and he’d wanted her gone.

Thea had been stilted and Kevin just as robotic. The silence had stretched between them before she knocked into his shoulder. Her moves practised, her blow soft.

“Get some practice in with the girls here so you’re ready for me by graduation,” she’d said. Partway a joke, the rest a promise. Thea would still want him years down the track.

She still wanted him now.

_Because they were Ravens, because they were the best, because they deserved the best, and for better or worse that meant each other._

He remembers her hunting him down when he said he'd never been skiing—the demand for whether it was true. Her eyes had raged between his and the bone white scars on his hand.

He’d never spoke of what Riko did to him, he hadn’t wanted her involved. The master had beaten her down enough already.

She’d followed him seething into his room. Had Riko fucked up his hand. Had he ruined it on purpose. Her vicious fear for him, her angry concern.

She’d come to his side so quickly.

He didn’t want something drastic to be the reason they talked.

“You have my phone number,” he says and immediately feels childish.

“Talk to me, Kevin,” she orders him; explain she says.

“You talk,” he whispers viciously and he isn’t sure where it comes from.

She doesn’t. He feels it scratching at his nerves, the dirt of his fear infecting this wound. She plays it safe and quiet so much like Kevin always had.

So much like no Fox ever would.

“I want to set up a bi-weekly call between us,” he says. He knows a panic attack looms before bed tonight. Biweekly: a cop out in itself—a test, twice a week or every two weeks?

What does she want?

She stays silent and Kevin talks over it like it will drown him out, “I need times, I want this scheduled so there’s no interference.”

“Will we now,” she says.

He is watching a man be hacked to pieces. His brother hits him and this time he doesn’t stop until Kevin hits the ground. The master chooses who will be number one.

But—a red pendant hangs around Thea’s neck. An accessory kept out of jealousy. She should make Perfect Court. She is good enough. And then after graduating, after US Court calls a second time, after her release date: the necklace stays. Kevin wears a number two and Thea leaves the severed leash around her neck. He called her the morning he took up the mantle of Queen. She’d posted a selfie to twitter the next day. Her throat vulnerable and bare. Her chin held high above it. Kevin knew a threat when he sees one.

“And what will we talk about?” she says.

Kevin sags and his sluggish blood begins rushing in his veins.

She sounds puzzled.

“Whatever we want,” Kevin whispers. “We can choose.”

Silence.

“I want us to talk more,” he blurts.

...

...

“I’d like that,” she says stiffly.

Silence.

“—I’m glad you called.”

“—I want that too.”

Kevin thinks for a moment it's tears coming upon him; he’s wrong: it's laughter.

 

* * *

 

It goes like this:

They lose.

They meet the Trojans at the semi-finals.

And they lose.

Its a humble end and Kevin is glad to have lost to Jeremy and Jean. The Trojans earned it. Jean willingly gets caught in an endless ring of high fives from his ecstatic teammates. Jeremy hits the ground when Dermott and Alvarez tackle him.

Allison shoves Kevin aside and the Fox girls wrap themselves around one another. They are laughing as much as they’re crying. Nicky and Matt drag Neil into the thick of it.

They lose.

Thea finds him in the locker room later. The Trojans don’t have stalls to hide behind here. She walks into the showers and Foxes in various states of undress scatter at the sight of her. He hadn’t known she was here.

The panic attack he’s starving off hits. She came. He always loses control when he feels safe.

She rubs his back until he calms.

And they stare each other down.

Kevin drops his eyes. Trepidation eats at what he wants to believe and attempts to peel away patchwork fixings to reveal what he’s been long taught.

“We lost,” he says.

Thea smiles. “Yeah you fucking did.”

Kevin smiles shyly in return.

“Congratulations,” Thea says.

They lost. Kevin’s bites his lip against a growing smile.

Thea tugs him into a headlock and presses her lips to his crown.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooooo! its is done, i'm so happy, this was so much fun! i really hope you lot enjoyed this, tell me how i made you /feel/, tell me your favourite lines  
> it has been a treat to read all the comments i've received, i finally understand why my friends rave about posting fanfiction, its the public response that keeps us coming back <333
> 
> oH AND ALSO I FOUND THIS IN MY RESEARCH >>> http://korakos.tumblr.com/post/133958767657/how-come-dan-doesnt-go-to-court <<< !!! LET ME KNO IF YOU WANT ME TO WRITE DAN TELLING NEIL EXY IS JUST A MEANS TO AN END LMAO


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